three days ago I received a letter in the mail to renew my domain subscription and I stood there just staring at the words “cancel” and “final notice” and “never more” and wondered where I should go from here. a month ago kev and I had a meaningful discussion about the future of Pretty Helmet. what it has accomplished for me as an outlet, my dwindling readership, my lack of motivation to sit and write every day, the highs and lows of having my face and my words out there floating around for people to take to heart or twist into something awful. I sometimes picture myself standing naked on a stage in front of an audience with bags over their faces. they can see me and point out my flaws, but I cannot see them and do the same.

with all these concerns churning in my overactive pregnant brain I made the decision that this has been therapeutic for me. as of today I have been one week and four days off of zoloft. the first time in six years I have not relied on medication to make me feel “normal”. I attribute this change to several factors: my aforementioned pregnancy, my devoted and loving husband, a handful of very patient friends and family, and Pretty Helmet.

there are some big things coming in the very near future, specifically the birth of The Manatee. I want to share this with you if you will let me. and I want you to share with me if you feel it necessary. we’ll be a big groping group of sharing.

then we’ll get liquored up, take advantage of each other and not call in the morning.

being pregnant has brought about the oddest series of comments from random strangers. and of all the people you would expect a little sympathy another pregnant woman completely blindsided me this weekend. kevin and i attended a football party at a friend’s house and i was introduced to a lovely blonde who was 21 weeks into her pregnancy. she inquired as to how far along i was and when i stated 16 weeks she told me “i’m more pregnant than you are”.

wait, did i walk into a gestation competition? will there be jello wrestling?

who in the hell says that? this isn’t a pissing contest. or in my case a i-haven’t-pooped-in-ten-days contest. when i brought up this woman’s comment to dmoney she said that the woman was probably just comparing the fact that her child is no longer a “manatee” and is more of an actual baby now. while this justification got me through the next hour of the evening i went home a stewed that it was still a completely inappropriate comment. even if this woman meant that her child is more developed than mine i have to reiterate that WHO THE FUCK CARES?! congratulations, you get to experience the miracle of childbirth five whole weeks before i do. they should give her a cookie, or a medal, or a swift punch in the tit.

and just for comparison purposes, this is the Manatee! at the time of this tete-a-tete:

and crazee ladee’s baby:

oh yes, i see the differences. while the Manatee! is still kind of skinny and would quickly be signed as a top runway model, her baby will be sitting at a fat camp snarfing cheetos and wondering why her mother is an unapologetic douchebag

remember the bone crushing exhaustion i spoke about in the last post? apparently it also causes you to forget that you once gave a shit about all the things you used to give a shit about. like blogging! and posting photos! and doing stuff other than lying in bed pretending you are the first person ever to be pregnant. because my brain has taken on the consistency of my recent craving (Campbell’s bean with bacon soup) i’ll distract you with shiny things! or just some crummy photos.

look! a bump! or it could be all of the aforementioned soup i’ve been consuming. 15 weeks, suckas!

and because i’m in a giving mood, here is another belly shot. stay tuned to next week when i showcase the enormity that are my boobs.

brock had some nasty, smelly tumors removed from his ear about a month ago. apparently they could do nothing about the other 15 pounds of him.

these are kev’s evil dead figurines that stand sentinel on his desk. i assume to give him inspiration when he’s doing our monthly household budget.

this picture is really for my dad, the biggest Alabama University fan i know. roll tide, daddy!

so far this pregnancy has been typical. and by typical i mean awful. that pregnancy glow they talk about, yeah it’s nothing but your skin becoming an oil slick akin to a 13 year old’s face. fatigue? i laugh in the face of that word. bone-crushing exhaustion is a better description. my day involves me working eight hours, eating every three hours, coming home and eating some more, and then falling into a coma with nightmarish dreams. oh, and the cherry on top of this oily, bloated, acne-ed, sleep deprived mound of flesh: i signed up for this shit.

please, for the love of all that is holy don’t call or email me and laugh knowingly and say “oh you silly child with your ten hour sleep a night, it gets so much worse”. frankly i don’t think i could handle that comment and neither could you. because i will come to your house and kick you in the mouth with one of my swollen feet.

and where is kevin in all this gestational wonderment? doting lovingly on his crazed wife. he has become “that husband” sans rushing out to buy a quart of ice cream and pickles. no, he is a smart man who stocks the fridge with every culinary delight my hormonal body can think of.

now, where did i put that tub of cream cheese and pork rinds?

i suck, i know! if blogging gave out citations for not blogging i’d be in prison for unpaid fines. but i have a good excuse. you’ll laugh when you hear the story. and then we’ll be best friends again only until i go another month without writing and then you’ll call me drunk and want to break up. (more…)

this weekend was city stages’ 20th anniversary and while the line-up was quite impressive i quickly realized why i do not go every year. hot, sticky frat boys. and not hot as in “hawt”, rather hot as in “would you please get the hell off me, you’re ax body spray deodorant stopped working nine hours ago”. (more…)

three things i love to talk about: farts, pooping and my hair. not in that particular order.
i was tired of having the sweat of death on the back of my neck in this alabama summer. and if the two people who are not from alabama read this, yes it is hot here. hotter than me talking about my bowel movements at a bar. i am sex personified.

my “jesus christ on a stick it is hot out here!” hairdo is courtesy of lisa at orbit salon. hi lisa! she made my head feel twenty pounds lighter and a thousand times cuter. atleast the girl at the stop-n-go said so.

and if by chance my hairdo isn’t your taste, here is a big, fat, squishy kitty. everyone loves thick pussy. now pull your mind out of the gutter.

goodnight my angel face. i love you more than you know. you brought nothing but happiness to our lives. watching you chase down squirrels in the yard, barking at the thunderstorms. hugging us by standing on the bed and bowing your head on our chests. trying to eat cooper and keep her out of trouble. you were not a dog, you were our daughter. (more…)

i was going to do an all white photo post, but it ended up being a dog photo session. i am lazy, here me yawn.

hai, i iz lira. i iz a nut.

our rose bush is in bloom. i wish the innernets was scratch & sniff.

more pretty smelling things in my yard.

hai! i see u haz doritos.

i brung backup in case u wudn’t give up dorito.

hai, i’m still heer. doritos not my foretay.

this weekend was off the chain as my mother would say. what? you’re mother doesn’t use ethnic slang? friday night kev and i went to see fresh ground comics, a stand-up comedy group from right here in birmingham. years of racism and blowing shit up will make anyone crazy enough to get up in front of a roomful of strangers and bitch about flavored lube. despite the hurricane force winds and flash flooding we ventured out to catch mike mccall and his merry band of emo rejects perform. i kid! all of the guys did really well.

5 minutes before showtime and mike still doesn’t have his shit together.

dmoney turned 32 saturday and threw herself one kick ass party. i can’t remember the last time i had a keg at a party. of course i don’t, i was probably curled up in a fetal position around it’s empty barrel. and no, it is not a coincidence that we’re all wearing irreverent t-shirts. only 2 of us are actual douchebags.

dmoney models the earrings i gave her for her birthday. it’s a free trade product so the 100 year old tibetan lady who fashioned them, while hunched over in a 4×4 sweatbox, was compensated handsomely with a goat.

if i was a meteorologist i would constantly send out cloud fart weather warnings.

that is juice in the cup. yummy, yummy hoppy juice.

at parties in the South we burn shit. in a cauldron. dancing naked under the full moon is not required until your third visit.

hot pr0n. need i say more?

rob in repose. that would make a great band name. a band that does falco covers.

all photos can be seen here. go there now! or i’ll turn you into a newt!